


Sex and Cartoons

by omphale23, slidellra (sli)



Series: Ray and Sunshine [3]
Category: due South
Genre: Co-Written, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sli/pseuds/slidellra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray's not going to jump Fraser.  Ray's going to see how long Fraser can hold out before jumping him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex and Cartoons

**Author's Note:**

> More modified comment fic, this time without any real attempts at a plot. Original comment version is [here](http://slidellra.livejournal.com/7712.html).

Ray'd learned to appreciate Fraser's efforts at proper preparation. The cabin had solid walls, the kind that kept even the loudest of hockey celebrations from waking somebody in another room. When that wasn't enough, they put a new door on the bedroom. Solid maple (well, birch, maybe, or fir--Ray didn't ask) and hand-planed by Fraser as an anniversary gift the year they decided they wanted a kid.

He returned the favor with a ball gag they don't use, because it didn't really keep the noise down and they needed to hear each other beg. They haven't even had it out of the box since the day the kid found it and she and Dief played tug-of-war.

Ray's plans always go wrong. It wouldn't be so bad, but Fraser felt the need to explain to Dief the difference between a toy and a Toy. After that, every time they said goodnight, Ray could have sworn Dief was making dirty jokes, because Fraser got this pinched look on his face and wouldn't look either of them in the eye.

But even though Dief teased Fraser, he also helped them keep the kid clueless. Sometimes he distracted her if she came in from playing or woke from a nap and they were...busy. On the rare nights when they left clothing scattered around the living room or kitchen, he dragged the discarded pants and shirts to their bedroom door and made a tidy little pile so she wouldn't get curious.

Of course he wanted payment in doughnuts and leftovers from the cafe ("Fraser, do you think it's queer that if I want to get laid I have to ask for a medium rare mooseburger with extra bacon and no pickles? Because I'm thinking we need a new system.") and Ray would never be able to look at the Trudeaus' malamute the same way again ("Thank you kindly, Dief, but we don't need any tips. And Damien and Barbara will not be paying a stud fee for my services, so you'll have to survive another winter without certain amenities. No, I don't believe a wolf has ever died of television withdrawal.")

*

Dief argued that oddly shaped oversized sweaters (including one he shredded and buried in the woods as soon as he could wriggle free) and stale homemade baked goods were a type of stud fee, and Ben should just work on his negotiation skills. He should be more direct (and, really, should model himself on Dief in this, as in much else) in order to secure more valuable goods, such as videotapes of daytime U.S. programming, if Ben was going to continue being stubborn about the satellite dish.

Ben (not in retaliation, whatever Dief and Ray might say) overlooked his daughter putting bows on Dief, while Ray sighed ("Dief can arrange for you and me to have a long, celibate winter if he holds this grudge, Frase.") and thawed one of his hidden stockpile of emergency doughnuts.

Eventually, they reached an understanding. Dief refrained from further comments on the sexual habits of humans ("I don't see what the big deal is. He's got the experience to back it up, so it's not like you're getting tips from Vecchio.") and in exchange Ben ensured that everyone was supplied with quality programming ("And I do mean quality, Diefenbaker. I'm not asking for copies of "Days of Our Lives.") on a basis as regular as Amazon.ca ("Frase, how about _Queer as Folk_? It's educational. What? It is!") could be with six feet of snow on the ground.

Given a choice between wholesome Canadian television and rereading a battered copy of _Macbeth_, Ray agreed to the arrangement.

Ben soon discovered that, despite their (transparent, to a trained observer) intellectual sneering, both his daughter and his once-wild wolf had a weakness for sentimental animated classics. He worried about the detrimental effect of indulging this taste, so he held such films in reserve until absolutely necessary.

And by "absolutely necessary," he meant for those days when Ray wore his oldest and most worn jeans, or the nerve-jangling time in late, stale winter just before spring thaw. The times when he felt like a walking exposed nerve and even the most casual touch made Ben want to throw Ray down on the nearest surface, sink his teeth into his neck, and fuck him raw.

***

Ray's not sure why they need twenty-seven Disney dvds, but as long as it keeps the sprite and the (irritatingly smug and oh, by the way, off at the Trudeaus' all last night. Again.) wolf busy, he's not complaining. Fraser's been out on patrol for four days (seven hours and fifty-three minutes), and Ray's ready to throw himself in a snowbank.

It's been almost ten years. Any day now his dick is going to realize that it doesn't need sex all the time.

Lucky for Ray (and his neglected equipment) it's March. Fraser's almost never late in from patrol this time of year--the promise of spring must be good for his Mountie abilities. Or it could be that most people are hunkered down indoors, gritting their teeth and trying to hang on until May.

And if the number of kids running around with December birthdays are a clue, probably fucking like rabbits. Unlike Ray. Who is definitely not thinking of jumping Fraser the minute he walks in the door.

It's pure coincidence that Fraser gets off duty in fourteen minutes (plus forty minutes to get home after reporting in, and ten minutes to greet the kid and the wolf) and he's got supper in the crockpot, a movie ready to go on the television (_Fantasia_, and not just because it's the loudest one they own and clocks in at just over two hours) and a pair of jeans that have seen better days.

Ray's not going to jump Fraser. Ray's going to see how long Fraser can hold out before jumping him.

The "don't jump Fraser" plan seems like a pretty stupid, shitty idea by the time Fraser finally appears (twenty-five minutes later than Ray'd thought, and his body is refusing to recognize the delayed schedule, is demanding sex _now_), ripe and bristly-jawed in his almost-rumpled brown uniform.

Fraser stomps snow off his boots and is kneeling to untie them when he's clobbered by a mini-tornado of enthusiastic girl. Standing, Fraser hoists the jabbering kidlet onto his hip and listens to her breathless explanation of the big events he'd missed; a cross-country ski lesson, how she'd been the one to identify Cygnus and Lyra through the new telescope, the big crash when sledding with Dief and Daddy. The last would have earned Ray a raised eyebrow and a "We'll talk about that later" look, but Fraser hasn't looked directly at Ray yet. Ray's got a pretty good idea why not, and knowing that Fraser's in the same boat as him gives him the strength to not flip on the TV and drag Fraser into the bedroom right then and there.

Instead, because he's a nice, helpful guy, Ray crouches down and gets to work on Fraser's boots.

He lets slip a tiny smile (not a grin, not a smirk, really barely anything at all) when he hears Fraser's sharp inhalation. He may not be looking, but Fraser sure knows where he is. Ray concentrates on the laces, untying frozen knots and sliding his fingers gently under the laces to tug them loose.

Fraser's breathing through his nose now. Ray sits back on his heels for a second, still looking at the boots. "Hey, you want to give your dad a minute to catch his breath? He's looking a little tired." Horny, tired, to-may-to, to-mah-to.

"Okay." She squirms out of Fraser's grasp and heads over to the set, flopping to the rug in the boneless slump that kids use until they master the angry teenage spawl. "Can I turn on the movie yet?"

Ray reaches for Fraser's leg, feeling it shake slightly as he nudges Fraser's foot up and tugs on his boot. The sudden grip on his wrist says that Ray's out of time. Fraser toes off his other boot and drags Ray up his body until they're standing an inch apart.

His voice is tight. "Yes. You may watch the film. We'll be in our room if you need us." He shoots the wolf a glance (Ray thinks it means "You're in charge, keep her out of trouble," but it could just as easily be "Don't interrupt us unless the house is on fire.") and jerks hard on Ray's arm, snugging them together and capturing his mouth for a demanding kiss.

Ray breaks off for air. "Hiya. Welcome home."

Fraser doesn't seem to be in the mood for talking. He looks at Ray (it's what Ray's mom would call a "speaking look" and he's totally on board for what it's saying, which is "Bedroom. Now.") and walks away.

Well, limps, really. Funny, Fraser was walking just fine when he came in the door.

*

In the bedroom, Ben attempts to calm himself with rhythmic breathing exercises, but only succeeds in making himself lightheaded. Ray is stubbornly, infuriatingly, still out in the common room. He can hear him setting up the film, making sure that the avid viewers are adequately stocked with snacks and water. This is proper preparation, indeed, but Ben can barely restrain the urge to go out there and drag Ray back to where he is most needed.

He slowly, carefully removes his uniform and places it in the laundry bag. Then he stands in his long underwear, hands behind his back, at the foot of the bed. Waiting.

Not soon enough, the door opens and Ray slips in. He leans back against the door, tilts his head and runs a slow, appraising look over Ben's body.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Nobody should be able to make longjohns look that hot."

Ben just watches him, fascinated by his slightly accelerated breathing, the long line of his limbs, the erection pressing into the soft, worn fabric of his jeans.

"Miss me?"

Ben can't answer. He wants to walk over to the door, to push Ray against it and hold him there with the weight of his body. He wants to unbutton Ray's jeans and make him moan and writhe with his hand. He wants to push Ray to his knees and make him take Ben's penis with his mouth. He wants to fuck Ray against the door, clothes pushed just far enough out of the way to enable hard, quick penetration.

He wants so much, so badly, that he's paralyzed with it.

Fortunately, Ray knows him very well. He pushes himself off the door and pulls his shirt off over his head. In a few slow steps he's right in front of Ben, the hint of a smile on his lips. "I missed you."

Ray's soft admission seems to be the sign that Ben's body was waiting for. His hand reaches up, trailing along Ray's side (shivers, even though Ben himself is overheated) and across his chest. Over his collarbone (like a line in the sand, like the edge of a crevasse, like a first kiss that changed everything) and up the long line of his throat, until he stops with his thumb at the base of Ray's jaw and the rest of his hand (trembling, but only a little) threaded into short hair.

Ray's eyes are closed. Ben can feel his heartbeat racing just under the skin ("Got this spot, right below my ear, and it's like it's hotwired. Bzzt, everything lights up.") and he hesitates.

Leans forward, whispers, "I can see that." Licks along Ray's neck, over his own hand (and still, still Ray doesn't move, doesn't flinch, barely even breathes) and around the edge of one ear. Still nothing, although he can almost _hear_ the pounding of Ray's heart, can certainly hear his own.

Ben changes direction, kissing back along Ray's jaw until they are face to face. Breathes out, "I'm home now."

He's not sure who moves next, but suddenly they're finished with slow. Ben finds himself in Ray's tight grip, moaning and clutching at any parts of him that his hands can reach. After that, things get a little blurry.

In a haze of mouths and hands and the heavy impact of their bodies colliding, Ben is on his back on the bed, his long underwear tangled around his ankles. He's mouthing Ray's bare shoulder, Ray struggling to get out of his jeans while still straddling him.

Finally kicking free with an inarticulate sound of relief, Ray's instantly pressed full length on top of him, lining up perfectly, the heat of their bodies scalding. Their mouths are open and crashing together, all heat and tongue and hunger. Ray pulls away first, pressing his face into the side of Ben's throat, and Ben arches, parting his legs to get closer, to hold them together. He wants to absorb Ray through the pores of his skin, breathe him in and never breathe out again.

"You should smell gross," Ray rasps against his neck, "but, fuck, it gets me hot. Essence of Fraser, right here."

"Pheromones, maybe." Ben runs his hands down Ray's back, across the top of his ass, rocking his hips so they slide together. He's so close already, overwhelmed by this.

Ray bites the spot where Ben's neck and shoulder meet, then slides down to kneel between his splayed legs.

"Want to taste it. Taste you."

*

Fraser nods at him, giving in with a groan as Ray leans close and bites at his hip. He traces a line along Fraser's thigh, sucking hard enough to hurt a little (hard enough to bruise, hard enough to possess and taste and ground them both) as his hands ghost across Ben's stomach and down his legs.

When Fraser's eyes flutter shut and he starts to knead the bed with his hands (gripping the sheets, releasing them, grabbing on again to hold himself down) Ray lifts his head and licks gently over the head of Fraser's dick.

He's pretty sure that's an approving whimper.

As he slides his lips over the head Ray keeps his eyes on Fraser the entire time, watching his mouth fall open and his head fall back. It's kind of awkward, because he has to tip his chin up and strain a bit--without letting up on the suction and without leaning back too far and falling over.

Ray's got a lot of practice at this. He's good at multitasking.

He knows Fraser is on the edge, torn between wanting to hold on to the feeling of Ray's mouth and needing to let go. He's got a trick up his--well, not sleeve, because he's naked, but something else that means sleeve--that should be enough to take the choice away.

He keeps up a brutal pace, working his mouth and tongue hard over Fraser's dick. Fraser moans, this straight out of really good porn sound, and thrusts up in short, no-rhythm bursts of motion.

Ray pulls off, one hand still stroking Fraser's spit-slippery dick. He brings his other hand to his mouth and, waiting 'til Fraser looks, licks his fingers wetly and sucks two of them in.

Fraser squeezes his eyes shut, his dick jerking in Ray's hand.

Crouching back down, Ray wraps his lips around Fraser's dick again, keeping up the same steady pace. He lifts one of Fraser's thighs and rests it on his shoulder, then drops his fingers down to trace Fraser's hole. His back is beginning to hurt, but he shouldn't have to hold the position much longer.

He pulls almost all the way off, takes a few deep breaths through his nose, and slides all the way back down, simultaneously pushing two fingers into Fraser and crooking them to find the familiar, perfect spot.

Fraser lets out what would have been a roar if he wasn't biting down on his forearm, lifts his hips clean off the bed, and comes down Ray's throat. Ray pulls off enough to catch some in his mouth, savoring the familiar flavor of Fraser, Fraser home, home safe and whole and where he belongs, shuddering and gasping on their bed.

After what he thinks is a decent interval (at least a minute, maybe even two) Ray slides up and kisses Fraser, a soft press of lips that's only a little bit to check if he's awake. It's not that he didn't have fun, but if Fraser's down for the count (and who knows how much sleep he's gotten this week) he wants to know now.

Ray's okay with finishing things up on his own. If he really has to.

Fraser doesn't stir when Ray puts his head down and rolls onto his side. So there's his answer. He's not disappointed (not much) but he still waits. It could just be a catnap.

He checks again. "Frase? You awake?"

Nothing. But that's fine. Really, it is. He'll just go check on the popcorn situation. Any second now, he's going to crawl out of bed and put on his sweats and go be responsible.

Well, in a couple minutes. He can lay here and watch Fraser sleep. It'll be fun. Soothing. Like meditating or something.

Ray's not trying to nudge anyone awake with the sheer force of his stare. He's just focused. On Fraser. Whose eyes are still closed. And who is beginning to snore.

He's not going to wake Fraser up. That wouldn't be polite. It would be downright un-Canadian. It would be mean, and mean people suck. And, anyway, it's really good to watch Fraser sleep. He misses this when Fraser's away, the basic fact of his face and breath and mouth and fingers and dick...

Ceilings are good to look at, too.

But just a little boring. Ray checks his erection. Still impressive, if he does say so himself. He's been hungry for this since Fraser left, since before Fraser left, just knowing it was coming, and it'd kill him to shove himself back into his pants and try to pretend he's perfectly fine living an orgasm-free life.

Sighing, Ray rolls off the bed and tiptoes to the door. Very slowly and very carefully, he cracks it open and squints through the gap. The music is soaring and Dief and the munchkin are both bug-eyed and slack-jawed. So, they're good to go for at least another hour, probably longer.

Ray shuts and relocks the door, then checks on Fraser (it's been a good 20, 25 seconds). He's sprawled on his back, his legs still open, mouth kinda open too. Totally out, damn it.

It's not like Fraser wouldn't enjoy waking up to Ray fingering or licking him open. No, he'd say "thank you kindly, Ray" in hot sex-ese. But, no. Sleep. Sleep is important.

Wandering closer to the bed, Ray eyes Fraser's mouth, the soft, relaxed lines of his body. He likes Fraser like this, all rounded muscles and sleek lines.

His hand is pressed up against his mostly-hard dick, just kind of holding on, and he starts to rub, feeling it fill all the way, the now-now-now sensation building again.

He reaches over for the rocking chair Fraser made (after the door, the first step in preparing to be parents) and drags it closer to the bed. Sitting, he slouches down, shivering a little at the cool wood against his bare skin. Propping one foot on the edge of the bed, he strokes his hand over his dick, watching Fraser.

Patience has never been one of his strong points. Ray tries, he really does. He's not sure how long Fraser's going to sleep, but he is sure that being this hard and then not doing anything about it (really sucks) is dangerous.

Probably kills brain cells or something. He's really only trying to keep himself healthy. Jacking off is like exercising, or eating spinach. Something like that. Besides, if Fraser was awake he'd be happy to let Ray watch him.

Still, this seems kind of kinky. And hot. Just sitting here, legs spread, running his eyes up and down Fraser's body and thinking about how, if he wanted to, he could climb back into bed and stretch out over Fraser and wake him up.

He won't. Instead, he takes his time, letting the tension build. He reaches into the bedside drawer for lube (if he's going to do this, might as well do it right) and flips the top open with his hand.

The cold drip of the lube startles him, but he lets the drop slide slowly down the side of his dick until it meets his fingers. He lets the slick spread slowly, sliding his palm through the slippery line and over the head. He grips more firmly, tossing the bottle back on the bed so that he can use his other hand to slip back and tease at his hole.

He's never understood why anyone would do this one-handed.

Feeling himself start to lose control, Ray closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the chair. His hand speeds up, pulling on his dick with a pressure that's almost enough to send him over the edge. He's caught between the urge to speed up, finish, and the desire to take his time and make the tension last as long as possible.

*

Ben wakes as a cold, hard object hits him on the thigh. He's immediately concerned, wondering how he could possibly have fallen asleep and left Ray unsatisfied. He's also surprised that Ray seems to have left him alone, unsure that if their situations were reversed he himself would have been able to resist.

He hears a low sound to one side and glances over, blinking blearily. Ray is slouched in their rocking chair, his legs splayed wide, using both hands to pleasure himself.

He looks sinfully abandoned and terribly beautiful, with flushed skin and lowered lashes, his body arranged for maximum exposure. Ben watches the muscles of his arm flex as he strokes himself, the angle of his wrist as one long finger of the other hand just slips inside him.

Flicking his eyes back up to Ray's face, he realizes that Ray's eyes aren't fully shut, that Ray is watching him from under his lashes, intent on his legs, stomach and groin. Hot arousal sizzles through Ben at the sight, mingling with warmth at the (really quite extraordinary) care for his comfort and needs that would lead Ray to curtail his own.

While he knows Ray enjoys watching him, he would surely have preferred more interactive activities.

Before Ray, he was often made uncomfortable by the appreciative stares and interest of strangers, acquaintances, even co-workers and friends. Ray both defended his right not to be gawked at ("Back off. He's not public property.") and taught him to enjoy the attention of the right person. For Ray's eyes, he will even preen.

He stretches slightly, shifts his hand to cup his groin without blocking Ray's view.

Ray lets out a soft moan and moves his hand faster.

Enjoying Ray's pleasure, Ben draws one knee up and pushes the heel of his hand against his reawakening penis. Clearly, Ray is absorbed by his activities, his focus on Ben's body, or he would have realized several minutes since that Ben is awake and interested. Smiling to himself, Ben runs his other hand over his chest, pausing to tease and pinch a nipple.

Ray's eyes follow automatically, then snap to his face.

"Hey!"

Any response Ben might have made is lost as Ray launches himself towards the bed.

Ray lands hard and punctuates his indignation with a shove of his erection against Ben's hip. "Sandbagger."

"Not at all." Ben licks his lips at the sudden flash of Ray's grin.

Another push. "I was being nice, asshole."

"And I appreciate it. Very thoughtful of you."

Ray twists his hips and Ben is distracted by the movement. "I can do thoughtful. I am all over thoughtful." The next thrust brings their erections together. Ray exhales sharply. "You needed sleep."

"Probably. But I'm awake now." And likely to stay that way, given their present positions. He spreads his legs wider, hoping to encourage Ray's sex-drugged brain to come up with other possible activities.

Ray's hand reaches out, searching for something. "Not much of a nap." Ben hears the pop of a cap. "Should've slept longer." Ray's fingers are cold and slick, pushing briefly inside him and then gone. "I would've been fine." Ray pushes himself up from the bed and kneels up. He runs a slippery hand quickly over his own erection, keeping his gaze locked on Ben's. "Didn't want to bother you." Ray nudges Ben's hips up, sliding a pillow beneath him and shifting closer.

Ben hisses as he feels Ray's penis press into him. "It's no bother. Really, I'm quite refreshed." The stretch and pull overwhelm them both.

Once Ray is inside Ben, their bodies joined and breathing harsh, he responds. "Guess I'll have to wear you out again."

*

Ray's bluffing and Fraser probably knows it. He was ready to come in his hand a couple of minutes ago, and now he's buried balls deep in perfection. But Ray's a fighter, a scrapper, he's taken on worse odds (though, just now, he can't remember when). He grits his teeth and tries to hold on through the hot and the tight and the fuck yeah, yeah, _now_.

He can't even pretend to do the slow build fuck, so as soon as his eyes uncross he gets right into pounding, making sure every thrust counts.

Fraser's got a hand on his own dick, and Ray ('cause he's a guy who knows his opponent's weaknesses) wraps his hand around Fraser's, lacing their fingers together and forcing a faster pace. He braces the other hand under Fraser's thigh for balance and puts his back into it. This isn't going to be a multi-round fight, this has gotta be a knock out.

It's working, it just might work. Fraser's taking it, going with it, groaning with it, his head tilted back, flushed from nipples to cheekbones.

"Wear you out again and again," Ray pants.

Fraser lolls his head forward, makes the kind of dazed eye contact that's all he's capable of when he's getting fucked just right.

"Never let you out of bed." Ray punctuates his words with the slippy hand twist on Fraser's dick that he likes so much and victory is his.

Not that he's got much time to enjoy it.

Fraser's whole body tenses, and Ray's having a hard time concentrating on his face when he feels hot spurts on his hand and (holy fucking christ that feels good) muscles clenching around him. Fraser pushes himself hard onto Ray's dick and that's it, he's done, his jaw clenches and he drops forward onto his hands, needing to fuck Fraser through the wall.

He doesn't quite manage it, but he sure as hell gives it his best. Fraser's helping, or trying to, bracing himself against the headboard (thank god for solid Canadian craftsmanship) and not even flinching as Ray loses control and drives into him. It's only a few seconds before he screws his eyes shut and freezes in place while his dick tries to turn itself inside out.

*

It's a beautiful sight, Ray contorted by orgasm. Ben watches greedily, loving his ability to bring Ray to this perfect, stark, and shaking moment. When Ray collapses, Ben wraps his arms loosely around him and closes his eyes.

It's very tempting to stay like this. No, wait. He shifts just enough for Ray's diminishing erection to slip out, then sighs in relief. Yes, to stay like this, then. To slowly recover together or sleep together.

But Ben has other duties, duties he's happy to fulfill. He shifts his weight and Ray slips to one side, automatically trying to tangle their arms and legs and hold him there. Ben works himself mostly free, then leans back in for a kiss.

"You gonna to be the sacrificial parent?" Ray mumbles against his mouth.

"Yes, Ray. You aren't the only one I've missed."

"Don't let me sleep too long. She'll tear you apart. You don't know."

"I'll call for backup should I need it."

"Yeah, right."

Ray's lack of faith in his parenting skills is an argument best left for another time. He digs through scattered clothing (neatness falls low on Ray's list of priorities) for something to slip on, finally settling on a pair of Ray's loose sweatpants. He opens the door quietly, glancing out and listening carefully to identify the piece (Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring," and a particular favorite of both child and wolf), and decides to take his time in the shower. Ben's not above deliberate avoidance of dancing hippopotami, so if he can't manage to catch "La Giaconda" he won't feel deprived.

He'll need to miss the rest of the Stravinsky, though. Dief invariably hides under the bed at the sight of Chernabog, and he wants to prevent any new mishaps (six months ago, Dief somehow failed to recognize the closed door as an obstacle. There's still a dent) and check on dinner while he can still stir things without any "help."

Moving as quietly as he can, he crosses the hall and slips into the bathroom. Ray's left out a towel and his toothbrush. Ben digs through the medicine chest, musing about whether they need to replenish the gauze and antiseptic.

He finds his razor and leaves it on the counter, wondering if Ray was trying to send a hint by not including it. Rubbing the patchy bristles on his jaw, he twists on the shower and discards the sweats. Days of built-up grime, not to mention the sweat and mess from recent activities, make a shower a thoroughly attractive prospect.

Stepping into tub, Ben soaps up extravagantly, far more wastefully than he would have before Ray's influence. He's almost aroused again by the process of washing his genitals, his skin still tender from sex.

When his shower is almost complete, there's a rush of cool air and Fraser tenses, afraid that his daughter has finally broken the "closed door means knock" rule. Instead, Ray appears, stripping out of his own long underwear and stepping into the shower behind him.

He relaxes into the strong arms that wrap around him, leans back against Ray's chest.

"Leave the beard, okay? Just for a day."

"It's going to leave a rash."

"That's okay. I'm not due to work on anything in town until the middle of next week. It'll be gone by then." Ray nips at the back of his neck. "And even if it wasn't, it isn't like there's anyone around here who doesn't already know we're fucking."

"There's Mrs. Jenkins." Ben pulls Ray's shampoo out of the rack.

Ray snorts. "The ninety-year-old lady who lives with her grandkids? I was over there last week, and she asked me how 'that lovely Benton likes the new sheets you ordered.' I think that ship has sailed, my friend."

Ben pours shampoo into his palm, reaching back to slip his fingers into Ray's hair. "I suppose she's been talking to the FedEx delivery person again."

"Face it, we're not hot gossip anymore. And I like the stubble. Makes you look butch."

Ben rubs his hands perhaps a bit too vigorously along Ray's scalp. "Really? How do I look without the stubble?"

"Ow. Fuck, that hurts. I've still got a goose egg from the sledding thing." Ray pulls away, turns him around so that they're face to face. "Lighten up. It's okay that we're out to Mrs. Jenkins and everyone else. And learn to take a compliment, okay? Now switch me places. The shampoo's dripping in my eyes."

They shift awkwardly, careful not to tip out of the narrow tub. Ray quickly rinses his hair and washes (with only minimal assistance) and Ben reaches past him to turn off the taps.

Ray kisses him lightly, steps out, and begins to towel himself dry.

Jostling elbows with Ray, Ben dries off, brushes his teeth, and puts his unused razor back in the cabinet. He can live with stubble for Ray's sake.

Dressed in his borrowed sweatpants, he returns to their bedroom for a shirt. Finally ready, he takes several deep breaths, straightens his shoulders, and heads out to be a dad.


End file.
